SIENNA’S POV

The sound of Cosette’s slap still echoed through the room long after her hand had dropped.

My cheek burned. My pride burned worse.

For a heartbeat, everything froze — the air, the candles, even the shadows clinging to the corners of the chamber. All I could hear was the sharp, steady drum of my own pulse.

She had actually slapped me.

Her palm had connected so fast it barely registered. One second, I was standing my ground. The next, my face was turned, my breath stolen. I ...